


Reliance

by Moosebrawn



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:31:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosebrawn/pseuds/Moosebrawn
Summary: When different circumstances in the North Pole lead to Katara and Zuko losing their bending, they must work together to regain what has been lost. Cannon divergence from S1E20





	1. Chapter 1

He woke in great pain with the smell of jasmine heavy in his nostrils. A harsh breath and the choking cough that followed attracted attention, and soon enough, a pair of warm hands began to press themselves to his skin - chest, cheeks, forehead.

“Uncle,” Zuko rasped, knowing those hands well enough. His own hands - leaden and numb - came up around his uncle’s wrists, pushing them away even though he longed for the comfort. “What happened?” And where were they? Zuko became aware of the gentle pitching of a ship. They were at sea, as they had often been during the past several years, but there was a different feeling to this vessel than the one that he’d commanded since the beginning of his exile.

 _We lost that ship_ , he remembered. _It blew up_.

The past several weeks came rushing back to him. The attempt on his life, posing as one of Zhao’s men, _capturing the Avatar_ -

He sat up, already forcing himself out of bed despite the spinning in his head, the bite of cold air against his already chilled skin. “Where is the Avatar?” he barked, looking wildly around the unfamiliar room, as though the Avatar might dart out from under the bed or behind the door.

“Calm down, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said, warning and care mixed effortlessly into his tone. “You have been unwell - unconscious for three days, now.”

Those warm hands pressed down on his bare chest, and a shiver ripped down Zuko’s spine. With a quiet grunt, he allowed himself to be pushed back into bed, head still spinning as he stared up into his uncle’s familiar face.

“I have commandeered a small vessel to take us to safety - the siege did not go in favor of the Fire Nation, and in any case, our actions against Admiral Zhao could be seen as treason,” the man continued, attempting to sait his nephew’s desperate need for information, for control.

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, more memories flooding back. Fighting against Zhao after the moon spirit’s death. It was strange how often he found himself fighting with the Avatar’s friends, as though Zuko himself were one of them. The reality of it was that their battles often aligned because their senses of right and wrong ran parallel. It was their separate goals that put them in conflict.

And now, progress toward Zuko’s end goal, his _destiny_ , had been hindered by the Avatar’s fight for the moon spirit. It’d seemed _right_ at the time - who _wouldn’t_ defend the moon spirit? - but now, in the chilly hold of an unfamiliar ship, Zuko began to see his error.

With a cry of rage, the exiled prince sprang forcefully off the sleeping pallet he’d been laid upon. His legs shook, but his pacing gained strength the longer he kept it up.

“You must rest,” Iroh warned, though he made no move to impede his nephew’s movements. He knew better than that, by then.

“Where are we?” he bit out, irritation breeding aggression in the pit of his stomach. It poured out of him in waves that should’ve been hot, but there was a faintness in his heart that kept his body feeling clammy and cold.

Iroh seemed concerned, but otherwise unaffected. Whether this was because he was so used to his nephew’s blustering or because there was something lackluster about his anger that day was not apparent. “We are on a small Water Tribe fishing vessel, heading for Earth Kingdom territory,” Iroh explained, gesturing to a low table on which rested a cup of steaming jasmine tea and several musty-looking maps.

“And the Avatar?” Zuko demanded, his voice low and hoarse.

“Don’t you remember?” Iroh asked, his concern seeming to mount.

Zuko looked away, angered by the empty spots in his memory. They’d fought Zhao, and the Avatar, by then, had been out of his hands, but he’d still held onto hope that they might catch him. And then... then... _Nothing_. A frustrated sigh burst out of the young prince’s mouth. “I don’t remember anything - the moon went dark. We fought Zhao. What happened then?”

A pensive look came into the older man’s eyes.

“While we fought, the Avatar’s waterbending friend tried to heal the moon spirit. Zhao began to target her instead of us,” he said, his voice prompting. As if Zuko would suddenly remember after hearing the words. When Zuko’s face remained drawn and blank, Iroh went on: “You leapt in front of her, Prince Zuko. The two of you fell into the oasis, and there was a bright flash of orange and blue light - we all thought it was too late, and that Zhao’s fire had killed you. But when we pulled you from the water, both of you were untouched.”

He tried to imagine it - tried to place himself in the Zuko of Iroh’s story. There was a strange sense of disconnection between that version of himself and the way he felt now. “I find that story a little hard to believe,” he said honestly, giving into his lethargy and sitting down at the edge of the pallet. He buried his face in his hands, a low groan of discomfort escaping him as he tried to find his inner fire and warm himself up.

“We show our true colors in times of great need,” Iroh replied, seeming to have expected this reaction.

Zuko ignored him. “Why is it so _cold_ in here?” he demanded, changing the subject.

“I have been trying to keep you warm - your body has been very weak.”

Zuko shivered. He was _never_ cold - that wasn’t how firebenders _worked_ . Ever since he’d first learned the basics of bending, his inner flame had kept him comfortably warm - sometimes even _uncomfortably_ , in tight spaces, but never _cold_ . This would’ve made sense if he’d still been out in the tundra, exposed to the elements, but _here_? In the closed hold of a ship?

“I need to see the sun,” he said softly, standing once more.

“You will have to wait - it is still dark out,” Iroh warned, coming up beside his nephew and tugging one of the youth’s long arms over his shoulder to help support him. “You should be resting, Zuko.”

But he’d been resting for three days, and Zuko disliked the damp chill of the hold. With or without the sun, a little fresh air would do him well. Instead of lying back down, he shuffled toward the door, intent on regaining his bearing and getting away from the smell of sickness that permeated the hold.

The moon was bright - clearly restored to its former glory. Zuko could not rightly say how that had come to be, but he’d had enough of Iroh’s stories. The man had a bad habit of giving only the version he wanted Zuko to see, and not the one that was _true_ . Maybe he _had_ jumped in front of the waterbender, and maybe he hadn’t. There was certainly more to the story that Iroh was not telling, or else, there were parts that he was exaggerating. _Orange and blue light?_ Zuko thought, feeling skeptical.

He wouldn’t worry about that, now. What was done was done, and Zuko wanted nothing more than to recover from this strange weakness and then get back to his mission. It didn’t matter if he’d tried to save the waterbender - valuing human life did not mean he was done with his destiny. He didn’t want _anyone_ to die, not even the Avatar and his friends. Maybe he didn’t have the Avatar’s best interests in mind, but he had no desire to hurt or kill him. Just... _maim_ him a little, so he couldn’t escape the way he always did.

Zuko took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stepping away from his uncle and taking up a wider stance. Another deep breath. Another. Slowly, like a bellows fanning a flame. But there was no answering flicker, no familiar spark.

There was no flame to fan.

“Uncle!” Zuko said sharply, jabbing his fist through the air in an attempt to produce fire, and finding that the ability seemed to have left him completely. “My fire - it’s gone!”

The realization was like ice down his back, shocking him to his very core. He could not remember a time when a flame had not burned bright in his heart, and without it, the young prince felt empty and vulnerable. Weak. He looked toward his uncle, fury and helplessness warring within him. Another blast of fear and worry spiked through him as he caught the expression on his uncle's face: resignation. Acceptance. Not a hint of surprise.

"I was afraid this would be the case," the older man said gravely, not meeting the furious glare of his nephew. "It must have something to do with Katara."

Zuko's brow furrowed in confusion. "Katara?" he demanded. "What's Katara?"

Iroh began to look a little guilty. "Ah... Prince Zuko... there is something I should show you," he said sheepishly. "Or rather, some _one_."


	2. Chapter 2

Zuko stared down at the sleeping girl, a furious snarl silently twisting his features. What had his uncle been  _ thinking _ , bring a dangerous waterbender with them? They didn’t have the time or resources to take care of a useless (and dangerous) girl, and Zuko had no desire to be around her. His snarl deepened as he thought of how ornery she’d be when she woke up - he knew the girl to fight like the wolf her tribe honored in battle. He knew that she could give him a run for his money on his bad days, and this was a  _ very bad day _ .

“What is she doing here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, rounding on his uncle with his yellow eyes blazing. There, at least, there would always be fire.

“Her friends were preoccupied with the battle,” Iroh said, his tone growing wheedling. “We could not just leave her in alone during an invasion. She could have been hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter - she’s not our responsibility,” he snapped, his eyes sliding toward the waterbender once more. “And she’s dangerous. What are you going to do when she wakes up?”

“A good man is responsible for all that he sees,” Iroh said gravely. “And she has already woken up several times, but I am afraid the death of the moon weakened her far more than whatever weakened you. She has been unable to stand on her own, and grows tired very quickly.”

Zuko let out a harsh breath, turning to study the girl again. It was just like his uncle to take in another lost duck. He had too much compassion in him and not enough sense.  _ At least she’s weak, _ he thought to himself, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall. He was weak, too. Hopefully, she would not be so dangerous without her bending.

“She hasn’t been able to bend, either?” Zuko asked softly, feeling something that was not quite empathy stirring in his gut.

“Not that I know of,” Iroh replied, “but she could be hiding it from me. I wondered - but that you cannot bend either makes me think that she is telling the truth. Besides, if she could bend, she would surely try to escape us.”

_ Good riddance, _ Zuko thought.  _ With or without her bending, she could be dangerous to have around. I have a destiny to fulfill. And what would happen if the Avatar found out I had his precious waterbender? _

“He’d rescue her,” said Zuko, his heart beginning to pound.

“What’s that?” Iroh asked warily.

_ If the Avatar found out I had her, he would try to get her back. He’d come to me -  _ “Why didn’t I think of this before?” he demanded, shooting away from the wall and beginning to pace to and fro across the room. “The Avatar is going to come to rescue her - he’ll come to  _ us _ , Uncle!”

Iroh opened his mouth as if to answer, but at that moment, the rustling of blankets captured both their attention.

Zuko’s head snapped around, and yellow eyes fixed piercingly onto blue ones. Hatred was written clearly across the waterbender’s face, and Zuko was reminded that not all people were as pragmatic as he was when it came to their feelings toward other people. To Zuko, the waterbender was not an enemy to be hated, but an obstacle to be overcome. Clearly, she did not have the same views as he did. “You will never capture Aang,” the waterbender said sharply, her voice reedy and thin but full of determination.

“I will,” Zuko said, his voice fervent. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like they’d lost so much ground in the North. He’d lost the Avatar, and apparently his bending, but he had the  _ waterbender _ . The Avatar would come to  _ him _ . As for his bending... well, they would see about that. Zuko couldn’t imagine this being  _ permanent _ . Firebending was a part of him. There had to be a way it could be restored. He believed this with the same ferocity he believed in his destiny of capturing the Avatar. “He  _ will _ come for you, and when he does, I will be ready.”

The hatred in her eyes only grew, and along with it, Zuko’s anger. It wasn’t his  _ fault _ he had to capture the Avatar. If he could turn back time and do things differently, if he could change his father’s mind, he  _ would _ . But this was the only way to restore his honor and earn his father’s respect. It was  _ necessary _ , and there was no need to  _ hate _ him for that which he could not change.

“He’ll come for me, and he’ll  _ beat you _ ,” the waterbender said with feeling, swinging her legs off the bed and rising on unsteady feet. “If I’m even around long enough for that to happen.”

By the tone of her voice, Zuko guessed that she meant to escape them before rescue became necessary. A flare of irritation cause Zuko to strike out, and his hand clamped painfully around the girl’s upper arm.

“How do you expect to get away without your bending?” he sneered, intending to take her down a peg. He expected that she knew some form of self-defence other than her waterbending, but Zuko had faith in his own training as well. Even without firebending, he was a formidable adversary. She would not escape him.

Unexpectedly, tears jumped into the waterbender’s eyes, and Zuko - in his shock - dropped her arm in disgust. He jerked back as though fearing it would be contagious, his eyes jumping to Iroh in accusation.  _ What did you do? Make her stop. _

“That is no way to treat a lady, Prince Zuko” Iroh said firmly, disapproval clear in his voice and the set of his jaw.

Immediately, guilt began to eat at Zuko’s conscience, but he pushed that away.  _ She’d _ been the one to take that tone, give him that glare. He’d reacted, and it wasn’t his fault she was a lady.

“Let’s all settle down. I have prepared some fine jasmine tea, and I think it will soothe all our tempers,” Iroh continued, his gaze resting on Zuko as he spoke.

The waterbender followed him out of the room, glaring daggers at Zuko as she passed. The hatred was still there, now mixed with apprehension and mistrust, but apparently, she harbored no such feelings for his uncle.

Fuming, Zuko trailed after them, unwilling to take his eyes off of his captive. It was a small ship - small enough that there was no rowboat for going to and from the shore. Apparently, this vessel was meant to dock at the shore, though it was big enough that there were a few harbors Zuko wouldn’t trust it in. The worst part was that it was made of wood, but considering his current predicament, Zuko wasn’t as worried about that part.

He didn’t  _ want _ tea. Especially not since the waterbending peasant was still shooting him dirty looks whenever he made the slightest of movements. She did not even try to hide these looks from his uncle, a fact which Iroh studiously ignored.

“I’m not doing anything,” Zuko snapped, feeling a little betrayed by Iroh’s indifference toward her behavior when his own had been called into question.

“Just existing is enough,” the waterbender shot back, venom in her voice.

“Children, children,” Iroh chided, handing them each a steaming up of tea. “Please, do not fight. I am an old man, and caring for both of you has left me quite tired.”

Guilt lanced through him again, but was alleviated by a surge of satisfaction when he caught the same look of chagrin on the waterbender’s face. She shot him one last look - discontentment, this time - but then left him alone, ignoring him as thoroughly as his uncle had ignored her glares. It wasn’t  _ nice _ , but not a lot had been, since he’d been exiled. Zuko was happy enough with being ignored while the other two talked.

The waterbender, he learned, had been given free reign around the ship. Without her bending and in her weakened state, she hadn’t seen much of a point in trying to escape while out in the open ocean. Zuko wasn’t even sure if Iroh considered her a prisoner (he guess not), but either way, he’d felt no need to confine her to any one part of the ship. She even had her own quarters, across the hall from Zuko and Iroh’s. They were sharing, as there were only two rooms, but he’d thought that the waterbender should have her own, seeing as she was unrelated, and also a girl.

The whole situation fired Zuko’s temper up once more.  _ How can he be so irresponsible? _ he wondered, though there was still a deep well of gratitude in him that couldn’t believe the waterbender was actually in their possession. Zuko wanted to hide her away and lock her up in chains, not trusting her to stay put while they slept. She’d stayed for this long, but that didn’t mean she’d stay forever, and Zuko intended to keep her until the Avatar was in his grasp.

Iroh would disapprove, undoubtedly, but the old man would just have to get over it. He could still bring her tea and pretend they were best friends, if he wanted, but Zuko was not going to let her escape.

“Stop ogling our guest, Prince Zuko. It is very rude,” Iroh said, his sly voice breaking Zuko out of his stupor.

The Fire Prince leveled a firm glare at his uncle. “I wasn’t ogling,” he said sharply.

“Why aren’t you drinking your tea, nephew?” he went on, ignoring Zuko’s denial completely.

Zuko turned his head away from the pair, taking a sip of his room-temperature tea. A grimace passed over his face at the unfamiliar taste. He wasn’t used to cold tea. Anything drink he held in his hands tended to be hot by the time it reached his lips. That this was no longer the case lanced a powerful ache through his chest.

“How long until we reach land, Uncle?” Zuko demanded, slamming down his half-filled cup and shooting the waterbender a sharp, distrustful glare. She’d seemed a little too amused by Iroh’s nettling. 

Iroh shrugged. “Two days. Three, perhaps. We have enough rations for another week, but not very much tea is left,” he explained, sounding worried. “Hopefully there will be a market the next time we see land. Katara has expressed her displeasure with some of the spiced meats I have packed.”

“It’s  _ too _ spicy,” the waterbender said, with the amused and exasperated air of a woman who’d had the same conversation many times over.

Zuko let out a soft huff, understanding the tone.

“Ah, you just have to give it a chance,” Iroh sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Well, it is long past this old man’s bedtime. Be kind to one another, children.”

Two pairs of eyes followed Iroh out of the room, and then blue snapped onto yellow as he disappeared. “Aren’t you going to leave?” the waterbender demanded, her voice hushed as though she was afraid of another scolding.

They’d sat for tea in her room, and the waterbender was still sitting on her bed, while Iroh and sat across from her and Zuko across the room. Now, Zuko stood, gathering up the cups and placing them on the low, bedside table, ignoring the way the waterbender leaned away from him when he drew near. He didn’t answer her, but when tea had been cleaned up, he returned to his wall and sank slowly to the floor, yellow eyes fixed firmly on the waterbender.

“This is  _ my _ room,” she said, and there was a threat in her voice, somewhere.

“I won’t risk you getting away,” Zuko replied. It didn’t matter how tired he was - he’d watch her like a hawk until the Avatar was his.

“How am I going to get away? We’re in the middle of the ocean,” the waterbender pointed out, as if explaining this to a child.

A mean sneer crossed his face. “You’re a waterbender. I don’t know why our bending isn’t working right now, but it could come back at any second - I’m  _ not _ going to let my guard down.”

Surprise flickered across her face. “Your bending is gone, too?” she asked, eyes narrowing even as her expression seemed to grow lighter. Tension seemed to release from her shoulders.

“Yes,” Zuko ground out, irritated at himself for giving this away. It was all her fault. It was probably her fault that their bending had been blocked in the first place.

The waterbender ignored him, now, seeming to find little threat in him now that she knew fire was out of his reach. It irritated him to be underestimated, but tactically, Zuko knew that it was better this way. If she underestimated him, she would be easier to overpower, when the time came. (And he didn’t fool himself - the time would come.)

“Do you really think it will come back?” she asked in a small voice.

For a moment, Zuko remembered that they were in the same boat. Literally. Empathy welled up in him again, and when he answered, his voice was almost soft. “It will.”

They didn’t speak, after that. Eventually, Zuko heard the sound of soft, slow breaths as she drifted off to sleep. On the floor of her room, Zuko was not far behind.

 

Despite the absence of his bending, Zuko still rose with the sun. He could still  _ feel  _ it, even though it no longer seemed to rouse his inner flame, and the young prince decided to take this as a good sign. He was still connected to his element, even if fire was out of reach, at the time.

The waterbender was still asleep, and Zuko took great care not to wake her as he stood, stretched, and crept out of the room. The numbness of his limbs was gone, replaced by a tight soreness that he didn’t like much better. Still, he felt strengthened. Well enough to dig through his uncle’s supplies and find what was needed to prepare some rice and dried meats for breakfast.

Without thinking, he portioned out enough for three, and though starting a fire without his bending gave him a moment of pause, it did not take him long to find a set of spark rocks and get the little pot of water boiling.

He ate without his uncle or prisoner when none of them showed up, and left the remains there on the deck as he wandered the length of it, staring out at the ocean and taking stock of his body. Aside from his sore limbs, he found an uncomfortable heaviness in his lungs. Perhaps he really  _ had _ almost drowned - the urge to cough was strong, but Zuko resisted, not wanting to wake the others just yet.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Zuko sat down and began to meditate. His breathing was slightly hindered by the tightness in his chest, but he found himself easily slipping back into his bending mindset. For several long minutes, he searched for some remnant of his flame. It couldn’t be  _ completely _ gone, but eventually, he stood once more, giving it up for the moment.

Instead, he began going through his forms, moving as though fire would really come from his fists. Part of him hoped that the familiar motions would tease it out of him, but for the most part, he simply focused on practicing. He had to keep up his training, even if his bending was currently dormant. Besides - the best medicine for sore limbs was more exercise. And he  _ did _ feel a little better when an hour or so of practice had gone by. His blood was pumping, at least, and some of the chill that’d stayed with him since waking the night before had now dissipated.

He turned to find the waterbender watching his every move.

“How long have you been there?” he demanded, hands tightening into fists. Defensive.

“I just woke up,” she responded, taking a step back from his anger. There was a new apprehension in her eyes. Apparently, his forms were intimidating even without fire.

“Well say something, next time,” Zuko snapped, turning around once more and putting another few steps of distance between them. He wasn’t  _ doing anything _ \- he didn’t know why she had to look at him like that when - once again - she was the one being rude, spying on him like some kind of creep.

“Isn’t it kind of pointless to practice when you can’t bend?” she asked, half curious, half derisive.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but Zuko could feel her eyes on his back. He stood rigid under her gaze, waiting for it to pass before he turned back around. When his gaze fell on her, it was to see her adopting her own stance.

 

Iroh emerged a little later in the morning, yawning as he came to stand beside his nephew. For a moment, they were both silent as they watched the third flow through her kata, moving with the same liquid grace as her element.

“She is very talented,” Iroh commented.

“Yeah,” Zuko replied, without thought. Watching her this way, he was sure that something of her waterbending must remain, and though this made him hopeful for his own bending, it also made him wary.

_ You will not get away, _ he thought fervently, eyes narrowed as they followed the waterbender’s movements.


	3. Chapter 3

The weather was already much warmer than it’d been in the North Pole, and Katara shed her heavy winter coat as she went through her last kata. The sun at her back seemed to strengthen her instead, and the warm rays on her skin were soothing to her tired, aching muscles. Despite feeling much better this morning than she had the past several days, Katara knew that she was not back to her full strength. This training was neither as difficult nor intensive as Master Pakku’s, but already, she felt drained.

“Your form is excellent, Katara,” Iroh said kindly.

Katara looked to Zuko, waiting for him to say something scornful, but the irritable prince apparently had nothing to say on the topic. He was still watching her carefully (and she’d felt his gaze through the entirety of her training session), as though she might whip water at him at any moment. Resisting the urge to snort, she turned instead to Iroh and offered a short bow. “Thank you, Uncle,” she said with a smile, accepting his praise.

Zuko raise an eyebrow at this, but the question in his gaze was directed at his uncle, and not her.

Katara ignored him, accepting a bowl of food from Iroh’s hands. It was rice and more of that spiced meat, but she was _hungry_ , so she at the offered meal without complaint.

Her situation could be a lot worse. She’d been terrified when she woke up that first time in that unfamiliar room. _Sokka!_ and _Aang!_ were the names she’d cried out, but it was Iroh who’d come bustling into the room, a cup of cold water in his hands. And because she knew the man as the enemy, Katara’s first reaction to this had been to try and bend the water at his face.

It hadn’t worked, and Katara had become more and more frantic the harder she tried. And, to her surprise, Iroh had comforted her instead of rebuking her. He’d given her the water freely, encouraged her to try all she wanted. It still hadn’t worked, but from then on, she didn’t jump away when Iroh entered the room.

He told her about the Spirit Oasis, the battle, the orange and blue lights. She _could_ remember, vaguely, the shock she’d felt when Zuko’s body had slammed into hers, pushing her out of the way of Zhao’s attack. After that, her memory was as blank as Zuko’s.

She still didn’t trust the prince, and she didn’t have _complete_ confidence in his uncle, but Katara knew that she was lucky to have escaped the North unscathed, even if it meant she’d lost her friends in the process. Iroh had mentioned something about finding them, possibly, but Katara wasn’t an idiot - she knew what would happened if Zuko found Aang.

So she was biding her time, waiting for land to appear in the distance. She’d held on hope for Zuko staying incapacitated until they reached land, but even though he was now awake, she was still confident she would find a way to escape. He couldn’t watch her forever, after all.

And maybe he was right, and her waterbending would come back at just the right time.

“We will have to cut your hair.”

Katara’s head snapped up as the phrase left Iroh’s mouth. Instinctively, her hands went to protect the long braid she always wore down her back, but Iroh was not talking to her. He and Zuko had been having their own conversation, quiet and mostly ignored by her as she agonized over her own difficulties.

“I know,” Zuko replied, despondent. Apparently, he was very fond of his stupid ponytail.

“If it bothers you so much, why don’t you leave it alone?” she asked, irritated just by looking at his weird, vaguely-threatening haircut. She had always been scared of him, ever since he first visited her tribe. The prince had looked dangerous and warlike to her innocent eyes. Even though she knew, now, that he was only a few years older, much of her first impression of him remained. Perhaps it was because he continued to pursue them - she’d been terrified when he’d captured her that day at the river. He’d tied her to a tree and threatened her, goading her with her mother’s necklace. And this past encounter at the Spirit Oasis, her blood had turned to ice when his raspy voice reached her ears, taunting and unafraid: _“Well aren’t you a big girl, now.”_

And it was true - he’d protected her from the pirate that first time, and the second, he’d done nothing to hurt her once he’d gotten her out of his way. He’d even _saved her_ , later on that same day. But none of that mattered. He was still a jerk, still trying to hunt Aang, and still terrifying when his head snapped toward her with poorly-suppressed rage.

“Mind your own business, peasant!” he snapped, storming across the deck - away from her and Iroh, but still within sight.

Katara heaved an irritated sigh, trying to hide the anxiety that came with Zuko’s wrath. She was still waiting for him to attack her, but for some reason, he was biding his time. Watching.

“What’s his problem?” she demanded.

Iroh set down his empty bowl with great care. “In your homeland, Katara, do many women wear their hair like yours?” he asked. His voice was kind and understanding, but there was something in his tone that made Katara’s cheeks heat with guilt.

“All unmarried women wear their hair like this,” she said, the words coming out more defensive than she meant them to be. “What, is the _prince_ getting married or something?” Instantly, she began to feel childish and petty. There was clearly something significant about his stupid ponytail. It wasn’t very mature of her to scorn him while she kept her own traditions.

Iroh didn’t answer her - not directly anyway.

“Zhao and his men will be looking for us,” said Iroh, dropping the subject of hairstyles, for the moment. “We would all do well to make ourselves unrecognizable.”

A shiver raced down Katara’s spine. Zhao had scared her more than anyone else - even the surly prince. At least Zuko hadn’t tried to kill the moon. Though that was one of the only things he had going for him. Other than trying to protect her from Zhao’s fire, of course.

Katara sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. She wished that things would stop seeming so complicated. She was grateful, she decided, for Zuko’s efforts, but she didn’t know what that _meant_ , as far as interacting with him went. Part of her wanted to be polite, but most of her (the more deeply-rooted part) wanted to do nothing of the sort. _He_ certainly wasn’t treating her any different.

Well... it _was_ different than what she’d expected. There was something strange about their interactions, but Katara couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Here,” Zuko snapped, and suddenly, there was a knife in Katara’s face.

She flinched back, a stricken look flashing across her face even as she reached out to the seawater around them, looking for a weapon. But her bending was gone, and before her stunted motion had even been completed, Iroh was taking the knife from Zuko’s hands and moving to stand behind his nephew.

“If I was going to stab you, you’d already be dead,” Zuko said harshly, kneeling beside her so that Iroh could reach his stupid ponytail.

Katara wanted to shoot back a scathing remark, but her eyes fell on his hands, clenched white-knuckled against his thighs. She turned her head away as Iroh grasped the offending lock, feeling as though she was intruding on something private. For once, not even Iroh had anything to say about Zuko’s rudeness. Maybe he’d given up.

When she looked back, Iroh was gone, and so was the rest of Zuko’s hair. Blue eyes traced his tense figure, noting the youthfulness in his features, and how the lack of hair makes him look a little more like Aang. Like a boy.

“Thank you,” she said after a long moment of silence. “For pushing me out of the way.”

She didn’t miss the way that reddened his cheeks (and, probably, neither did he) but Katara was _grateful_ , and so she pretended she did.

 

The rest of the day passed in relative peace, with Zuko occupying the stern of the ship and Katara, the bow. It was easy to pretend that she was still with Aang and Sokka if she just focused on her waterbending. That she could not actually _bend_ put a bit of a damper on her mood, but Master Pakku had drilled enough into her that she felt she was still doing herself a favor by continuing to practice.

 _It’ll come back_ , she told herself firmly. _Zuko seems so sure_...

But if she was basing all this off trust in Zuko...

With a frustrated sigh, Katara broke out of her stance and stomped to the edge of the deck. Blue eyes gaze angrily out over the water. _Why can’t I bend you?_ She wanted to shout - but she didn’t, because she could already feel an irritated gaze burning holes in her back.

“Can you keep it down? I’m trying to focus,” he snapped.

“What is there to focus on?” she shot back, too frustrated with herself to put any heat behind the words. “I might as well be trying to firebend for all the good this is doing me!”

Zuko laughed - the sound was ugly and grating in the afternoon chill. “Stick with your puddles, waterbender,” he sneered.

Katara stepped back, hurt by his antagonizing despite herself. She knew she really shouldn’t be surprised.

“I had you beat until the sun rose,” she challenged, stepping toward him in threat, but then rethinking her actions as she remembered how much it’d _hurt_ when he’d grabbed her arm. Still - “I bet I’d make a better firebender than _you_.”

That awful laugh rang out once again. “As if you could even learn the forms.”

Katara drew herself up, crossed her arms over her chest. “Try me.”

A startled look crossed over the surly prince’s face, but after a moment, he took up one of his stupid firebending stances, apparently ready to ignore Katara once more. Except he didn’t move past that first stance, and his eyes were still fixed - harsh and something else - on Katara.

“What?” she demanded.

“Is this too complicated for you?” he asked impatiently.

 _Oh_ . Somehow, she hadn’t expected to be taken up on her challenge, but he did, and now Katara wasn’t sure how to proceed. But Zuko continued to stand there, continued to stare, and eventually, she stood beside him and did her best to mimic his stance. It wasn’t perfect, and it earned a scornful look from the _prince_ , but Katara didn’t care. This was just as fruitless as waterbending - just something to pass the time.

“Now what?” she asked, a little bored with just standing there.

Zuko’s head snapped away, as though he had only just realized how closely he was studying her. “Now we breathe,” he said firmly, and there was something different about his voice. Not kinder, but _calmer_. More at peace.

Together, they stood and they breathed.

And somewhere deep inside her, a heavy weight began to ease.

Beside her, Zuko inhaled air and exhaled fire.


End file.
